


A Letter On A Test

by CherriesAndRaindrops



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherriesAndRaindrops/pseuds/CherriesAndRaindrops
Summary: Gandhi’s least favorite class had always been math.
Relationships: Gandhi/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	A Letter On A Test

**Author's Note:**

> Hnnnnngh this is so bad-
> 
> Anyways, take my crappy Gandgogh content.

Gandhi’s least favorite class had always been math.

None of the material ever made sense to him. Maybe it was because all the work was too confusing to do on his own, or maybe it was because it was nearly impossible to listen to Mr. Sheepman drone on about how long division works or the area of a rectangle, so he zoned out into his own thoughts. Either way, it was a pain in the ass.

Today, however, he was gonna go through a special kind of hell during this already horrendous class.

Today, he had to take a test.

Luckily, he actually studied this time around. Sure, he’d only studied for 10 minutes tops for the past two days, but it was definitely an improve from his usual study habits.

He hoped that, just this once, he did good.

—

He was not doing good.

He’d finished up the first problem within five minutes, but he’d been stuck on the second one for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many times he tried to read it, it never made the slightest bit of sense. All the words jumbled up in his head and made it feel like it was going to explode.

_You’re so stupid._

He started drumming his pencil against the paper, continuing to read the problem over and over to try and soak in at least one scrap of information. He didn’t understand, everyone else seemed to be doing just fine on the test, why was he the one stumbling through it? It was only six questions, none of them were probably that hard.

He wished he was smarter like his classmates.

They could raise their hand in class and ask questions without any fear, they could go home to their parents and proudly show them their grades, they could feel confident about everything they wrote down.

But he couldn’t.

_You’re a failure._

He screwed up everything he did, no matter how much effort he put into it. Ever since he was a kid, he was forced to watch all his friends succeed in life while he sat in the sidelines, getting lectured about how he was doing everything wrong. He tried to act like it didn’t hurt.

It did, a lot.

_You’re running out of time._

By now, he could feel tears of stress fill up his eyes. He knew he’d never hear the end of it if he bursted out crying in the middle of class, so he blinked them away.

But the clock kept ticking down each second, and he could feel his heart pound against his chest, and he started to see people hand in their tests while the waste of space that he was wasn’t even done with the second question, and the world started caving in around him.

_No one would care if you died tomorrow._

_All your friends and your boyfriend hate you and think you’re the most pathetic thing alive._

_The real Gandhi would be ashamed of you._

”Can I please go to the bathroom?!”

He could feel all of his classmates’ eyes burning into him as he shouted out to Mr. Sheepman.

”Sure.” The teacher responded, not looking up from his computer screen.

And in the blink of an eye, he was out of that horrible room.

He felt like his body was on fire as he dashed down the hallway, heavily breathing and whimpering as he finally made his way to the boys’ bathroom.

He locked himself in the first stall, sunk down to the floor, and bawled.

How pitiful he must’ve looked, having a panic attack in a bathroom stall while his fellow classmates were actually making themselves useful and doing something productive with their lives.

He felt so, so worthless.

He was so wrapped in his own whirlpool of emotion, he didn’t even hear the creaking of the bathroom door opening.

”...Gandhi? Are you in here?”

His sobbing came to a sudden halt when he recognized the voice.

”...Vince?”

”Yeah, it’s me.” He heard him respond, followed by more footsteps. Then, he, much to Gandhi’s dismay, he swung open the stall door.

”Oh, Gandhi...” The redhead cooed sympathetically, plopping down next to his boyfriend after locking the door behind him. “What happened?”

 _”I’m so fucking stupid!”_ He shouted, tears running freely down his cheeks. _“I screw everything up! And when I ask for help, people scold me and say that I need to be like the real Gandhi! No one even lets me be myself!”_

He slammed his fists onto the hard floor.

_**“I WISH I WAS NEVER EVEN FUCKING BORN!”** _

Then, he felt Vincent pull him into a hug, and that’s all that it took for him to become a sobbing mess again.

He buried his head into his shoulder and shook like a leaf in the autumn wind, sinking into the embrace as he felt his boyfriend gently trace circles along his back. Although he felt absolutely miserable, letting all his emotions out with someone that cared about him felt good in a really, really weird way.

All he knew was that getting held in one of his most vulnerable moments felt nice, to say the least.

After a few minutes, Vincent noticed that Gandhi’s cries had nearly completely ceased, and were replaced with whimpers and shivers.

”Hey, can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, Gandhi lifted his head off his Vincent’s shoulder so his bloodshot, dark brown eyes were staring into his boyfriend’s china blue ones.

”You’re worth so much more than a letter on a test, or what a teacher says about you, okay? Don’t ever forget that.”

The boy nodded, his depressed expression staying the same.

He didn’t quite believe him.

The shorter of the two smiled, leaning up and pressing a kiss onto his forehead. “Most special guy I’ve ever met.” He murmured.

”I gotta go.” Gandhi muttered indifferently, standing up. “Class is gonna end soon, don’t want Mr. Sheepman noticing I’m gone.”

He unlocked the stall door, and started making his way out of the bathroom.

”Gandhi, wait!”

He turned around to face his boyfriend, who was standing behind him with his hands in the shape of a heart.

”I love you.”

Gandhi chuckled, giving him a sad smile that made his heart melt like sugar under the sun.

Seeing the love of his life even the tiniest bit happy was more important to Vincent than anything.

—

A few days passed, and Gandhi was sitting in math class once again, waiting results from the same test that stressed him out of his mind.

After he finished having his panic attack in the bathroom stall, he had asked for more time on the test, to which Mr. Sheepman happily compiled. He was able to finish it within fifteen minutes the next day.

Soon, the paper was on his desk, graded and all.

Gandhi glanced at it just as the bell rang, and gasped with joy at the sight of all his hard work paying off.

After packing up all his stuff, he rushed out of the class to see Vincent waiting for him.

“I GOT AN A!” He cheered, jumping up and down.

”See? I knew you could do it!” Vincent grinned, grabbing Gandhi’s hands. “I’m so proud of you!”

”Soooo...” Gandhi leaned down to reach his boyfriend’s height, a roguish smirk on his face. “Where’s my gift?”

”Well, since you asked so nicely....”

Vincent trailed off, stood up on his tippy-toes, and peeked Gandhi’s cheek, making him giggle like the lovey dovey dork he was. God, what would he do without his boyfriend?

”So, you wanna go to my place?” The artist asked. “My parents aren’t home!”

”Totally!”

”Okay, off we go!”

The two dashed out of the building, temporary free from the hell that was high school.

And finally, Gandhi felt like he was worth something.


End file.
